


"There's a certain Slant of light"

by Ms_E_Vye



Category: Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 12:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18446216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_E_Vye/pseuds/Ms_E_Vye
Summary: "He’s an impossibility, leaning against the desk in the study."





	"There's a certain Slant of light"

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Emily Dickinson's poem 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

He’s an impossibility, leaning against the desk in the study. The relaxed lines of his body are so obviously Casual, Confident America, but the power of his build, the set of his face… These things are ancient, Elio thinks, as ancient as the statues and relics his father resurrects in his studies, through his words. 

For a moment, Elio wonders if he’s somehow brought this Oliver into being through too many words, unsaid. Through the sickness of his longing. Oliver, (again? always?) here in Samuel Perlman’s study, is the sort of beautiful that lacerates. It’s the summer of their meeting, all over again. The late-afternoon light turns Oliver’s hair golden. 

Ultimately, it’s the light that’s wrong, that jolts Elio from the sense of déjà vu. The light’s far too weak for an Italian summer. This light is bright, cold, unforgiving. The light of December. 

Clapping a warm hand on Elio’s shoulder, Samuel Perlman begins teasing Their Favorite Houseguest for keeping this visit a secret, for not mentioning a word of it on the phone, the other day. 

Elio is certain that Oliver hears the love in his father’s voice. He wonders, though, if Oliver hears the worry, too. 

Oliver begins offering an explanation, a smile behind the story, but Elio does not follow. Does not want to follow. His senses are otherwise occupied. Mainly, he searches the room for Her. It’s difficult, Elio notes, to see the room, as his field of vision is crowded with imagining. Imagining the couple embrace as couples do. Imagining Oliver’s name on Her lips. Oliver’s name on Oliver’s lips. The vertigo is sudden, and Elio sways into his father’s hold. 

The light in the study is too bright, and Elio murmurs a half-articulate excuse about half-finished work. He breaks away. 

He’s climbing the stairs, when a hand again reaches for his shoulder. He doesn’t want to turn around because he knows, standing on this step, he will be able to see directly into Oliver’s eyes. He shrugs off the hand and continues climbing. 

Oliver follows. Elio hears his tread now, would recognize it anywhere, possibly.

They reach his (their) room. Why are you here?, Elio wonders but does not ask. 

You never answered my question, Oliver responds, anyways. 

A pause. Elio can’t resist knowing. Or Oliver. Or both. 

What question?

Do you mind?

Elio realizes he’s been wrong. He does have tears left, even now, after.

The difference is, in the after, Oliver’s here, kissing him. He tastes the salt of the tears. 

It shouldn’t be enough, this wordless kiss, and maybe it won’t be tomorrow. But Elio falls into it in the way he fell back against his father’s steadying hand. It’s a response to love that overwhelms. 

It embarrasses Elio to consider what his father might imagine, be thinking, about this reunion. Still, they fall to his (their) bed, and the frantic energy of it is so familiar, so like that of the first time. 

Distantly, Elio's aware of the winter afternoon light, spilling across the room. He closes his eyes.


End file.
